SWEET NOTHING

LORETTA KLEIN. EIGHTEEN. a daughter of violence, considers harm a comfort  // some women are not meant to be mothers and some women are not meant to be daughters.

[reckless-tunes]

Visit Original Link

“If there’s a bustle in your hedgerow Don’t be alarmed now It’s just a spring clean for the may queen Yes, there are two paths you can go by But in the long run There’s still time to change the road you’re on”

[lorettaklein]

when you see a spark of movement on the dash, omg hi i miss you all & i hope life is treating you guys good ♥

[lorettaklein]

 theorsonfrench:

     The connection. That was the problem. Orson French was a master of manipulation, the greatest puppeteer of them all. And who could of been more skilled at deceiving the children of Whittemroe than their headmaster, their hero and saviour, in some cases the reason they stood strong in present day. A horrible complex trapped Orson with the inability to feel guilt and it was the actions of a man filled with sin and desperation to bring her here today, “It will not be difficult, I promise, have I ever made your life harder?” 

Perhaps in some realm this was true as Orson supposed that he lived on the premise that there were only two outcomes of the immune seven before they were born; they would either live or die. “It’s simple, just a little thing,” he promised, “And when it’s done, you will be stronger than ever before. Maybe even invincible. You’ll finally have what you’ve always wanted, Lor. Nobody will ever be able to mess with you again. You’ll be a beacon of hope, of light, for all others.”

      She is not a cruel girl, not the sort to throw around poisonous words and hissed threats as easily as others might, but displeasure has been clogged up over time. One often grows tired of being seen for little then she truly is, they never look past her blonde locks and angelic smile. Place a halo on her head and consider her as warm as the Mother of the Universe. Had they not underestimated her, they would have seen that she is not the fragile creature one would have her seem - and her obsession with living a life full of light could be the biggest harm of all.

Good people do bad things without realizing them. (Was that not the path the generation of Whittemore students would take in the years to come? Everyone thinking of themselves the good guy and blaming everyone else for their terrible actions. Horrifying mistakes.)

In her mind as long as she is acting out of good, she feels, there is no harm. What a curse is it to be the girl with unending hopes and ideals. “What is it that you need of me?”

[lorettaklein]

I’m done with classes at 7pm if anyone wants to plot & save me from university misery that would be great !!

[lorettaklein]

 karenxbell:

“What was your hallucination,” the word fell clumsily from her lips before she continued, “about, Lor?” Curiosity seeped into her tone, the girl wondering what kind of images too much champagne and sweets would bring. The things she saw when intoxicated were mostly doubles and bright lights. “Oh, yes, I remember that! Your outfit was so cute,” she smiled, the memory a bit hazy but there if she concentrated. “It was a wonderful night! I don’t remember very much, but I’m pretty sure I got the always hoped for midnight kiss. How was yours?”

“A voice I’m not familiar with, repeating my name. Again and again. As if it’s telling me to wake up. It sounds really strange, non?” A twirl of her golden hair at the thought, one she loses once the compliment is given. Karen’s love for her is a constant, soft thing that she returns with care. “Oh, thank you, so was yours.” Humming in the language of all things love, her eyes light up at the mention of the midnight kiss. “Any recalls of who the lucky one was? One of the new students, perhaps?” Her own heart and cheeks flutter and flush of first love. “I spend the last and first moments of the year with Martin.”

[lorettaklein]

 bethanylaws:

“who knows?” it was one of those questions that was unanswerable until the moment it happened, and as much as beth liked to pretend she knew it all, she didn’t have the answers. it was questions like these that would leave her defensive and angry, questioning why the person asked about it, but with loretta it seemed okay. she seemed the type to get away with it, and bethany didn’t know why but she let it slide anyway. “you can’t ask a person that and expect a sane response.”

WHAT A STUPID THING TO ASK — she suddenly felt crude, an unwanted color, broken china doll. ‘ how far would you go for love? ’ mother had asked her once, looking at her with dark blue hues, loretta could see thunders roaring in. the room was silent, for words could not be used to describe how far she would go, her eyes carrying tears that angels would curse themselves for. until it is the death of me, she wanted to say, but was the sight of her not explanation enough? was that not the terrifying truth? she had loved her mother despite all. kept her lips sealed, until neighbors began to notice that there was something horrible going on in the klein household. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that,” she said softly after a long beat. “If you will excuse me. I have to go. I’m hoping to run into charles before the classes start.” planting a brief kiss on bethany’s cheek, as a farewell, she stands up. “you can have the rest of my strawberries.”

[lorettaklein]

 bethanylaws:

love, love, love. it was an overused word and an overused emotion that kept almost everyone on this earth alive, and bethany was so afraid of it especially considering her heart beat a little bit faster with almost any little thing from any little person. “yeah, it is crazy.” not that she could judge, that was her current inspiration for her obsession that could only lead to the demise of herself. “more than you’d know.” more than she’d know either, until after her nineteenth birthday.

“and how far is that?” perhaps, loretta is asking the sort of questions she shouldn’t be asking. polite girls only smile to be the pretty little pawns they were meant to be, and she should know better than the rest to hold her tongue, to bite her lips red, like the strawberry she had been chewing on. but there had always been something melancholic about her, in the way she moved when no one was watching, how she brushed her fingers over the thorn of what once was a breathing rose, the sadness that sometimes threatened to leave her lips: “would you be willing to die for the one you love?”

[lorettaklein]

 karenxbell:

The explanation seemed to fit the other girl perfectly, and a breathless laugh escaped the Karen’s ips as she looked between Loretta and where the sun would soon make its first appearance of the year. “I didn’t know that,” she hummed, placing the remains of her strawberry in the snow beside her. “I came outside because I thought I heard something weird out here, but I think I must have been dreaming.”

“Hm. Dreams have a strange way of feeling real. I had a hallucination once. It was not a dream, for sure, but it was not completely real either. I also had a little much champagne, a lot of sweets.” And a charming Martin on her arm, enough to make her feel like she was dreaming, “How was your New Year, dreamboat? I think I ran into you before the countdown.”

[lorettaklein]

 s-fawkes:

                      There was something about her that almost put Sam in a trance. He probably would be, if she wasn’t his mother. Though, like muscle memory in a body that wasn’t his, a smile tugged at his lips as his heart fluttered for the girl. His body and mind were contradictions but her question integrated the two once again with a series of flashing imaged that instilled fear and misery within him. Did he dream of Loretta? Most night, Sam did. Sam dreamed of the car crash that killed his parents as if he was watching from the backseat. He dreamed of how they locked Clara away. The great memories of his parents did not matter during those nights and the only thing that could console him was the letter Charles’ left him that noted how his parents loved him and Clara. “I always dream of you,” he spoke with underlying sadness that countered that smile he had forced to remain on his lips. “I dream of the future with you. A family. Two kids, a boy and a girl. And we’re happy. We’re safe and nothing can harm us. Do you see it, too?” 

                              “I can see it too.” An immediate response so full of longing that it was genuine. Loretta Klein, simply Lo at the ripe age of ten had always fantasized to be a mother. About all the things she could give to her daughter; braid her hair with flowers entwined with love, ballet classes all pink tulle, bedtime stories about princes and princesses. She could reach for the stars and claim all things her mother never could: children cared for with love, a devoted husband. It sounded so beautiful, so clear, and she takes Martins left palm in her hand and kisses the center of it. “Clara,” she decides. “It means bright in German.” For that is what she hoped their future to be. “What shall we name our handsome son?”

[lorettaklein]

 howardscross:

“Ah, well,” he shrugged a shoulder, “it’ll give me something to complain about.”

Howard wasn’t a people person. He may have been good with them but that didn’t mean he liked being in the presence of many. Loretta was somewhat of an exception. She carried a calmer presence than the other students, giving him little to lose his temper over. She was soft, too soft, too weak. His family had helped her and he would look out for her. He could’ve seen her as needy, he could’ve considered her an annoyance. He would sooner consider her a friend, if Howard Cross had friends.

“What if I have somewhere to be?” He inquired, a hint of a smile on his lips, standing a moment longer before he lowered himself to the ground, taking the empty place. “You ought’a be ashamed of yourself, miss Loretta, keeping people from big plans.”

How strange it must have seemed, for the fluttery thing, to be draped and tangled and to be so unafraid in the presence of a boy who all seemed wary of. A boy who was hailed more Ares then Apollo. She cared for him as much as an angel would, although he was more her guarding angel then she was his.

Miss Loretta, she quite liked how it sounded, polite (even, when his housed mirth). She felt like one of those girls who belonged to white chateaus, enchanted gardens, gloved hands, white satin and creamy lace. From broken porcelain to a golden woman. “Then blame me for your absent,” her smile never faltered from pillowed lips. It would be hard for anyone to stay mad at her. “Although, if your plans are more charming then mine, which includes watching the sunset,” a pause, “consider me your plus one.”

[lorettaklein]

 theorsonfrench:

     “From the moment that I met you, I knew that you possessed something truly special. All you’ve been through with such beauty and grace,” like an old story, he told it, lacing up the gruesome details with pretty words. Everything was better gift wrapped and she was no exception, Orson had known this from the moment he had met her when she was still bruises and scuffed clothes. “Loretta, I want to speak to you about an opportunity to better yourself. To spread your wings, to become something more than you are. Not because you need to change but because perhaps the world does and you are an undeniably good starting point.”

       He was charismatic; a man stepped out of a black-and-white movie with looks that could challenge Delon. Horror movies started out this way too, charming man lures an innocent woman into his cunningly spun spider-webbed trap. A delicate trap carefully spun for innocent or unaware. Loretta was both. A butterfly ripped from her wings. A femme looking for praise. Orson seemed to believe in her, offer to her the remembrance, the admiration, the hopes of perhaps one-day feelings as beautiful on the inside as she appeared externally, to give the world what she always wanted to have. “How can I do that?” 

[lorettaklein]

 theorsonfrench:

       Books thrown in every direction, a table almost upturned in papers that ranged from scrawls to vicious scribbles. A family photo upturned on the edge of a desk, as if the haunting eyes of his children by being absent would make the unquenchable feeling inside of him go away. Only Cassandra could of told the school that the bags under Orson’s eyes were from a descent into hell like no other, the students, his own children besides Charles, oblivious to his unravelling mentality and the lengths he would go to in order to get what he wanted. What he needed. He was blinded by his path and those who stumbled into the war he waged now against the world were blinded by his stature and certainty from seeing that he truly had no idea what he was doing, “You came,” he turned towards the opening door to find one of whom he had summoned earlier that day, the light spilling in with a ghastly shade that satisfied nobody, “Please sit.”

              Unsure, noir lashes flutter in slow beats, even with the gentleness the Cross family had given her, she knew she had been fated to fall, but hoped, no prayed, that this afternoon would not be the place nor the time. Taking a seat, as Orson French requested her too, her fingertips were gently positioned onto the surface of her lap, light hues traveled around the dimly lit room taking in the chaos that was splayed around her. It reminded her of the early mornings and never-ending nights when Celia’s anger got the worst of them. When Loretta should have screamed so loud (with each hit), that the entire neighborhood would have thought that she and her mother were being murdered. “What is it that you want to speak about, sir?” She asked, worry caught in her throat, pale complexion yet as ethereal as ever.

[lorettaklein]

 karenxbell:

There was something about Loretta that had always held Karen’s attention, something that separated the girl from the others who went to Whittemore. It was the gentleness that seemed to cling to her; the soft tones and delicate smiles. She was another child of the fifth house, and although the redhead didn’t know the full story, she knew that Loretta was like her. Whittemore was all they really had. With the black scarf now wrapped around the blonde’s neck, she smiled softly and sat back. “Why are you out in the cold, honey?” A gentle question, no judgement behind it as she reached for a strawberry, bringing the red berry to her red lips.

“I heard the first sunrise of the year brings luck,” she gave away, admiring the scarf that hangs around her neck. “Have you come for the sunlight too?” It might not be much, the warmth, but for girls like Loretta, who have been sheltered half their life from beautiful things, from the warmth that only a mother or the biggest star in the universe could give. For those girls, it was more than enough.

[lorettaklein]

 bethanylaws:

“love has a taste now, does it?” bethany questioned, her tone a bit pessimistic, she herself had never been in anything more than platonic or familial love. maybe if she fell truly in love she would understand, but at this point in her life she disliked the poetry of it (she claimed it was because she was more attuned to science), and she found love to be nonexistent. “no, i have not.” loretta was sure to tell her, and she did. “it sounds like the great gatsby.”

who was his daisy? the thought was sure to keep her awake tonight. “crazy, the things one would do for love.” loretta was fixated on the term, love, tasting it on her tongue. she desired the idea of being connected to anyone, for she has not had such connections before whittemore. “how far would you go for love?” she wondered aloud, the query for both herself and bethany.

[lorettaklein]

 amosxharpe:

“Luck?” He questioned, looking away and taking another bite out of his strawberry, gazing out at the sky. Did watching the first sunrise of the year really bring good luck? Did he believe in luck, or was he just too engulfed in science and books to believe in silly superstitions? He finished his strawberry, throwing the little calyx petals onto the ground and wiping his fingers on his black trousers. “Yes, I assume I could be here for luck… I have never thought about it, but maybe I’ll try it… How do I know when it has worked?”

“That is for you to discover.” The clouds were edged now with a rim of gold. The sun making its first peak over the horizon, sending shadows through the trees, light striking the side of her porcelain face. She allows her chin to rests on the tops of her knees, looking like a rose soaking its petals in the warmth, hoping to soak sweetness. Sunlight glowing upon them, portraying them with the kind of ignorance that was found in movies. “How beautiful.”

[lorettaklein]

 s-fawkes:

                  There was obviously something he had done that made the universe conspire against him. Sam was pissed off ; always being dealt a bad hand and luck never seemed to be by his side as the mysteries of Whittemore and his own family began to unravel. And yet, there he was — alive and part of a narrative he didn’t really know how would end. He shouldn’t complain but it was another story for his mind to be stuck in his father’s body and be forced to act in love with his own mother for the sake of his own existence. 

Sam sat beside her, a smile glued to his features as he shook his head at the question. “I’m still full,” a lie. He hadn’t eaten since he awoken in Martin Fawkes’ body and well, he didn’t really have an appetite as his mind had been occupied by more pressing matters. “So,” Sam drawled for a moment as he looked at his mother — almost as angelic as Clara was (will be?) but maybe, this was their family’s curse. Darkness lived underneath their skins, hidden by pretty smiles and charming laughter. “Do you have any New Year’s resolutions?” It was a simple question. Sam never really knew the kind of person his father was in his youth so simplicity needed to be his friend for the meantime.

                    There are a few things in life so beautiful they hurt: handsome boys, music boxes, and all soft, lace and precious things. Delicate Loretta was filled with romance. Her heart fluttering like a doves heart when she looked up at Martin and saw the present, the guilt, and the innocence and craved every moment she could have in his future.

“Good morning,” wishful spoken, licking the remnants of strawberry from her lips with the tip of her tongue. “More stupid choices and lessons learned,” A smile, voice of honey, “Living in the quote: as we came, we saw, we loved.” Veni. Vidi. Amavi. She wanted to be the most beloved woman, to be loved forever even through heartbreak. “To be carefully protected like nothing else under heaven.” It is in her innocent heart the want, to find someone who would let her live her days without the pain and suffering she once felt and believed that Martin was that for her. She was the heartbreak of a dead rose, the charm of handwritten love letters and he was the receiver of her beauty, her love, her heart. “What about you?” Are you dreaming of me too?

[lorettaklein]

 karenxbell:

Red hair was caught in her zipper, the collar of her coat, even coated in the sticky red lipgloss she’d applied after leaving the library and finding her missing heel. Winter wasn’t Karen’s best season, her mother never really having taught her how to hold herself when the wind was howling and the ground was covered in snow. Her mother was made for magazines, not snowball fights and snow angels. 

It was then that she spotted someone who appeared to be even less equipped than herself, however. Just looking at Loretta made a shiver run over her skin. “Lor, you’re missing half of your clothes,” she exclaimed, tone half joking, half concerned. “I’ll trade ya. Scarf for a strawberry?” Karen offered, already tugging her hair out from where it had gotten tangled up in the plain black scarf she’d been wearing. 

“Oh, Karen, my dreamboat” Loretta coos in response, half a joke, the curve of her lips gives away a soft laugh. “You are too sweet to me,” and the appreciation for a small offer is seen on her regal features, the blonde looks like Apollo kissed her on both cheeks and Aphrodite blushed her cheeks with love. In the past, she had wrapped lace and satin around her wounds, but Whittemore to Loretta had been kind, more people had hugged her than she had been held. Scarfs were wrapped around her neck to hold her warm, to hold her kind. “Deal,” she says holding out the box for Karen, the remnants of strawberry in her mouth so sweet it aches.